


Alone and Together With You

by alittlebitaces (acesmcgee)



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesmcgee/pseuds/alittlebitaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just some angsty drabble in a universe where they were actually a thing pre-Reset, Helena's POV. dumped from my tumblr. inspired by the song Landscape by Florence + the Machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone and Together With You

Dim pinkish light began to seep into the room, but Helena hardly noticed the appearance of tiny shadows on the white stucco ceiling. She did not know how long she had been awake for, but if she had to guess, it would have been several hours by now; sleep seemed so trivial since the de-bronzing, an oddity for other people to partake in to her own baffled bemusement. Not that she strictly minded. It was the quietest time of day, when she could finally hear herself think above that buzz of everything electric—just one more thing she had failed to become accustomed to in this future.

 _I do not belong here_ , and it was not the first time that thought had occurred to her, nor even the tenth. No, this was a constant in both centuries. It had become somewhat of a mantra ever since that first thud of her heart, a marching beat grown unfamiliar with the passage of a century, the both carrying her forward on a tide that used to be relenting but now seemed to begrudge their own existence, so that she did not know what to believe in anymore. 

Helena sighed through her nose and turned onto her side, tired of watching the world turn in those steadily stretching shadows. Even in spite of herself, she felt a smile draw across her lips at the sight of that tangled brown mane. Reaching out, she took a curl between two slender fingers, gingerly pulling it straight and letting it free to spring back into a coil. It had been their first night together, and if it was also to be their last, she wanted to remember every detail, to bottle this morning up and seal it tight and take it to the grave. The urge that brought her to Myka’s bed was as selfish as it was pure, but she could not allow herself to regret it, not now, not with so little time left. She had, after all, never known herself to be anything but self-indulgent.  _Except with Christina_. 

Bitterness burrowed into her gut and knotted there, a worm poised to devour her from the inside out, and Helena’s jaw clenched against it, a reflex being with Myka had given her. Paltry to anyone else, but an exhaustive feat for the Victorian; it would be a strange and terrible sort of relief to simply let it consume her again, to collect the debt of having her daughter taken from her.

Helena would never see what Myka saw in her. But she wished she could have been that better person. For her. 

Lifting her head from the pillow, she stole a glance over the rise of a shoulder to the alarm clock on the bedside table. Barely two minutes until it would go off.

There was so precious little time. 

The smile had long since fallen from her face as Helena half rose up onto an elbow and edged closer to the warmth of that other body. She felt so desperately cold. Turning her face into those curls, she slipped a pale hand over the curve of Myka’s hips and tucked the tips of her fingers just inside her boyshorts, eliciting a slight squirm and noise, a small little half-asleep thing, from the back of the other woman’s throat. Helena’s heart ached with the sound of it. 

H.G. Wells had built a machine to go back in time, theorized one to go forward, but she had never been able to figure out how to just make it stay  _still_. 

A jarring, blaring beep shook them both so that she could feel the woman in her arms start a bit, immediately reaching out and slapping a hand on the snooze button. She tucked the hand back close beneath the covers but it wasn’t longer than a beat or two before Myka stirred again with a sharp intake of air, and Helena tightened her hold. She just wanted it to  _stop_. 

Everything. 

Just for a bit. 

Myka had been slow to wake at first, but now she turned, that grip relenting just enough to allow her to twist onto her back and settle her cheek to the pillow. Green eyes searched the face before them. Black eyes stared back, unblinking and fathomless. Helena had long since forgotten the tug of affection within her breast, of growing love, of love  _allowed_  to grow. 

“Did you sleep?” Myka’s voice was low and crackled with it yet. 

“A little.”

A smile, soft and still half steeped in bleary dreams. “You stayed the night.”

Or at least she thought she had forgotten it. 

“I did.” 

“I forgot what it’s like to wake up with someone,” that whispered little voice said, a hushed confession just for her, because of her, with a flash of a grin that would have been difficult  _not_  to mirror. “It’s…nice.”

She had thought so many things, and been so angry for so long. But here was Myka, warm and soft and real and proving her wrong with every beat of that heart so freshly pieced whole again. 

“It is,” Helena whispered back, and she meant it even though she wished she had never come to know it with Myka, for her sake. It was too late for them to look back. Nothing would soften the coming blow now, another victim to her love. Suddenly she was relieved she would likely die with her plan; she did not want to see the damage she’d done to this woman.

Myka hesitated, green eyes falling. Licked her lips. Then leaned in and pressed them to hers, sweet and flushed with the novelty of the freedom to do so. 

Helena always loved too much, but all the same it was never enough.

She felt those lips curve against hers and then pull back, and watched as Myka turned and rolled off the bed, tossing a final glance back at Helena over her shoulder before shutting the bathroom door behind her. That smile never faltered and it was so full of hope, thinking things had only just begun, thinking of everything yet to come, that for a moment Helena found herself believing it. Only a moment—then reality, which was always nipping at her heels, wrenched the smile from her own face with one easy reminder.

From beyond, the rush of running water filtered through the door.

Helena sat up and ran her fingers back through her hair, lightly touching the pads of her feet to the wood floor but failing to rise. Instead, she pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and rummaged for what she knew she would find: a little square pad of adhesive-backed yellow paper and a ballpoint pen. Uncapping it, she put the tip to the paper and paused. Black ink beaded beneath the scant pressure applied. 

The hissing stream of water from the other side of the wall dulled to a soft patter, skittering off skin in a vision all too easily pictured.

She wrote in sweeping, elegant hand.

 _Dearest Myka,  
_ _I have seen everything good in this world, for this morning it awoke beside me. I no longer look to the future; it could offer me nothing more._  

H.G. Wells capped the pen and returned it to the drawer along with the note. Perhaps it was cruel of her, to leave that shred of Helena behind for Myka to find after she was gone, but she needed her to know that not all of it was a lie, a means to an end a hundred years in the making. She had never been part of the plan, and was never accounted for.

Myka Bering was the one thing even H.G. Wells could have never imagined.


End file.
